Post by Featherpaw on Aug 30, 2016 21:53:10 GMT -6
riverclan
featherpaw
AGE
6 Moons
GENDER
Female
RANK
Apprentice
APPEARANCE
Featherpaw is a small cat, neat and tidy. She can come across as smaller than she actually is, due to her dislike of wasted motion. She is one who naturally favors cleanliness, though this fact doesn't put her above rolling around in the dirt with her sister when a good romp is needed. Rather, her fastidious cleanliness seems to come from a desire for order - and as her own appearance is something she can control, she tends to be possessive, even obsessive, of her overall appearance. Whether this is making sure to wash after every scrap (prey or brawling) or choosing to skip meals when she feels her body becoming a bit too large, she seems most happy when she can make a choice for herself.
Featherpaw is a silver tabby, with paler blue eyes compared to that of her ferocious sister. Her lighter fur glimmers like the silver scales on a fish's belly, and her tabby lines fade from a deep black to luxurious chocolate as they curve around her ribs and throat. She is a pretty little thing, with an appearance seemingly suited to RiverClan's well-known fascination for shiny knick-knacks and appreciation of all things beautiful.
PERSONALITY
Docile, dependent - these are the traits her clanmates pick up on and most often comment about. Whether it is dependence on her mentor or an almost dreamy kindness of dealing with her sister, Featherpaw is best known for her soft touches, her light footfalls, the way she seems to float through life, more ghost than mortal. And yet beneath this almost timid facade is a cat sensitive to the needs of her clanmates, though not perhaps the needs of herself.
She is a natural worrier, prone to fear when a plan unexpectedly goes off-track. To conquer her natural helplessness, she has taken to controlling her meals and the appearance of her fur. The sharp hunger pangs bring sense and keep her level-headed in more dire situations. And yet, when even that is not enough, she will turn to cleaning her entire body, grooming as if she might be able to expel the worries, in much the same way she might tease knots free from her fur.
And yet despite her sensitivity, Featherpaw is not above making sly jokes. She enjoys teasing warriors and apprentices alike. She is well aware of her good looks and her sometimes downtrodden moods, and she enjoys teasing those who worry over her. Perhaps secretly, deep down, she feels somewhat ashamed of herself for not being as bold as Bluepaw is. She doesn't really want to be coddled, but her personality is as such that the best she can do is try to control herself and not have her clanmates become too concerned with her well-being.
HISTORY
Featherpaw was birthed in turmoil and strife. It was her mother's bad luck to give birth to three kits shortly after ShadowClan became host to an epidemic that would destroy the four clans. And perhaps it was a warning, an omen from StarClan, that small Stonekit (the only tom of the kits) would pass shortly after being born. Too weak.
If you asked Featherpaw now, she would shake her head, still awash in sorrow for her brother. But it was not to be the first death she witnessed, and it was certainly a far cry from the last. Her mother was the next to die, and whatever father Featherpaw had imagined in her idle daydreams never came forward to claim the orphaned young cats. As for her mother, she had been out hunting when the kits were a few months and the monster illness was just beginning to rear its ugly head. According to the patrol who found her body, it had to have been a badger.
With the loss of their mother, the kits were forced to adapt to solid foods sooner than expected, though they were still confined to the nursery. Featherpaw was eager to stay in the nursery, where the scent of her mother still wreathed her empty nest. The world was smaller there, more intimate, and she did not feel overwhelmed. And yet Bluepaw balked at the enclosed space, eager to be away. Featherpaw could not agree with her sister.
And then the sickness came. It was devastating to the clan. Featherpaw was sick with fear - fear for her clan, fear for her sister, fear for herself. She cried for the elders, and she huddled in terror when a warrior was taken from the camp, tail dragging in the dirt. The clan slowly broke apart, an overripe fruit, and the sweet scent of death was sickening. It clogged Featherpaw's nostrils, made her pawpads warm and sweaty - and it was in the death throes of the sickness' final, terrible last stand, that Featherpaw turned away from eating.
The sharp bite of hunger iced her terror, and in those throbbing pains she found a sort of solace. She was not so foolish as to fully give up eating - but when the fear took over, when her head spun with the fullness of her despair, the hunger was there to draw her back out.
And, as she discovered upon the day of her apprenticeship, it had grown from a small, nipping fly into a plump, smug fox. Her belly felt tight, overripe, when she ate something that was "too much". And so, the illness that had fought through the miasma of the biting sickness lodged itself comfortably in the pit of her stomach.
SEXUALITY
Heterosexual
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
N/A
6 Moons
GENDER
Female
RANK
Apprentice
APPEARANCE
Featherpaw is a small cat, neat and tidy. She can come across as smaller than she actually is, due to her dislike of wasted motion. She is one who naturally favors cleanliness, though this fact doesn't put her above rolling around in the dirt with her sister when a good romp is needed. Rather, her fastidious cleanliness seems to come from a desire for order - and as her own appearance is something she can control, she tends to be possessive, even obsessive, of her overall appearance. Whether this is making sure to wash after every scrap (prey or brawling) or choosing to skip meals when she feels her body becoming a bit too large, she seems most happy when she can make a choice for herself.
Featherpaw is a silver tabby, with paler blue eyes compared to that of her ferocious sister. Her lighter fur glimmers like the silver scales on a fish's belly, and her tabby lines fade from a deep black to luxurious chocolate as they curve around her ribs and throat. She is a pretty little thing, with an appearance seemingly suited to RiverClan's well-known fascination for shiny knick-knacks and appreciation of all things beautiful.
PERSONALITY
Docile, dependent - these are the traits her clanmates pick up on and most often comment about. Whether it is dependence on her mentor or an almost dreamy kindness of dealing with her sister, Featherpaw is best known for her soft touches, her light footfalls, the way she seems to float through life, more ghost than mortal. And yet beneath this almost timid facade is a cat sensitive to the needs of her clanmates, though not perhaps the needs of herself.
She is a natural worrier, prone to fear when a plan unexpectedly goes off-track. To conquer her natural helplessness, she has taken to controlling her meals and the appearance of her fur. The sharp hunger pangs bring sense and keep her level-headed in more dire situations. And yet, when even that is not enough, she will turn to cleaning her entire body, grooming as if she might be able to expel the worries, in much the same way she might tease knots free from her fur.
And yet despite her sensitivity, Featherpaw is not above making sly jokes. She enjoys teasing warriors and apprentices alike. She is well aware of her good looks and her sometimes downtrodden moods, and she enjoys teasing those who worry over her. Perhaps secretly, deep down, she feels somewhat ashamed of herself for not being as bold as Bluepaw is. She doesn't really want to be coddled, but her personality is as such that the best she can do is try to control herself and not have her clanmates become too concerned with her well-being.
HISTORY
Featherpaw was birthed in turmoil and strife. It was her mother's bad luck to give birth to three kits shortly after ShadowClan became host to an epidemic that would destroy the four clans. And perhaps it was a warning, an omen from StarClan, that small Stonekit (the only tom of the kits) would pass shortly after being born. Too weak.
If you asked Featherpaw now, she would shake her head, still awash in sorrow for her brother. But it was not to be the first death she witnessed, and it was certainly a far cry from the last. Her mother was the next to die, and whatever father Featherpaw had imagined in her idle daydreams never came forward to claim the orphaned young cats. As for her mother, she had been out hunting when the kits were a few months and the monster illness was just beginning to rear its ugly head. According to the patrol who found her body, it had to have been a badger.
With the loss of their mother, the kits were forced to adapt to solid foods sooner than expected, though they were still confined to the nursery. Featherpaw was eager to stay in the nursery, where the scent of her mother still wreathed her empty nest. The world was smaller there, more intimate, and she did not feel overwhelmed. And yet Bluepaw balked at the enclosed space, eager to be away. Featherpaw could not agree with her sister.
And then the sickness came. It was devastating to the clan. Featherpaw was sick with fear - fear for her clan, fear for her sister, fear for herself. She cried for the elders, and she huddled in terror when a warrior was taken from the camp, tail dragging in the dirt. The clan slowly broke apart, an overripe fruit, and the sweet scent of death was sickening. It clogged Featherpaw's nostrils, made her pawpads warm and sweaty - and it was in the death throes of the sickness' final, terrible last stand, that Featherpaw turned away from eating.
The sharp bite of hunger iced her terror, and in those throbbing pains she found a sort of solace. She was not so foolish as to fully give up eating - but when the fear took over, when her head spun with the fullness of her despair, the hunger was there to draw her back out.
And, as she discovered upon the day of her apprenticeship, it had grown from a small, nipping fly into a plump, smug fox. Her belly felt tight, overripe, when she ate something that was "too much". And so, the illness that had fought through the miasma of the biting sickness lodged itself comfortably in the pit of her stomach.
SEXUALITY
Heterosexual
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
N/A
